EvaFall
by DareThrylls
Summary: In the far future after the Third Impact, an interstellar war wages between the Frontier Militia and the Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation. After uncovering relics of the past, the IMC assembles a task force for the operation of Evangelion Super Titans while the Militia puts together a counter-agency to combat them. At the end of the day however, they are all merely pawns.
1. Chapter 1

Authors Note: So I wrote this a while ago, only now am I deciding to translate it over to here. So I'll address what I realize is primarily wrong with this first chapter: I wrote this for a Titanfall community, and as a result I took the liberty of assuming people would understand the Titanfall specific concepts here. I recognized post writing this isn't likely the case, so I apologize in advance. From now on I will attempt to clarify subjects and concepts unique to either fandom in this crossover. Thank you!

_This was supposed to be easy, yet somehow I'm not fucking surprised._

Of all the Militia cells in the Frontier, it seems the M-COR simply can't get enough of me. I've accomplished a good lot for a pesky little grunt, I'd say. I shook my head as the Radio Operator from my command squad had reported several enemy Titanfall inbound, their locations on the battlefield marked on my HUD. This, after we've pushed back the Last Resort AND pinned the 6-4. Just fucking great. These harvester raids were starting to get a bit more costly than they're worth, granted, I let the drones do most the dying. I knew that the cloak drones my unit had purchased out of pocket would allow us to get positions on the titans without taking too heavy a fire, so I quickly had some of my rifle squads break off from suppressing the 6-4 and instead ordered a unit of Stalkers to take their position via BluFor Tracker and sent a request to strike them with a good Phantom 55mm gun run with Tac-Chat. Gotta love combined arms warfare.

"6 titans, three platoons, sounds like an issue." I said, raising a brow as I analyzed the current situation. Matching one titan to a platoon was doable, they could take them out in that fashion, my only issue would then be getting the jump on the remaining three titans. "Have the line platoons set up a Hasty Ambush against those titans, once they're dealt with we'll break contact and head for ORP 'Hammer', then get me Crossroads."

"Aye, Sir." Was the response from the young Marine before he lifted his radio handset. "Apache, Wesson, and Caliburn, Apache, Wesson, and Caliburn, this is Shooter, new operational objective; eliminate incoming Titans and then break contact to ORP Hammer. Fire support assets are available, Hasty Ambush advised. Over."

_《__This is Apache, Understood.__》_

_《__Wesson, Wilco.__》_

_《__Roger that Shooter, Caliburn out.__》_

With my orders issues and acknowledged, I quickly scanned my immediate environment. Had to be on the lookout for enemy pilots because they were often rather sneaky and could come from any direction. I then reached out to my XO, who had been leading a different command squad so that if a titan landed on any of us the company would still have leadership. "Five, this is Six."

_《__Send for Five.__》_

"Things are getting pretty dicey, enemy pilots are soon gonna outnumber us Grunts. Prepare the mortar section with Precion Non-Nuclear Warheads."

_《__Affirmative, prepping N2 Directed Shells__》_

"Good, break. Four, Five."

_《__Yes, Sir, Four reads.__》_

"Take the Specialist Section and run intercept on the remaining three Titans."

_《__Got it.__》_

"Six Out." My team should arrive at the ORP (that's Operational Rally Point) first, to assist in directing the other platoons. And to get a good survey of the land and where to set everybody up because we couldn't have 3 platoons of Marines too close; that's asking to get hit with some ordnance. Keeping an eye on my Radar, my four man team made their way down the streets of this backwater colony. It was rather large for being unregistered, though most these buildings were prefabricated and the roads weren't exactly modern standard. An agricultural colony by the looks of it, which is probably how they made a living like this; sell food products for cash so it couldn't be traced back here. Now that the IMC had found it however, thermite strikes had set the distant crop fields ablaze, covering the horizon in dark smoke. Quickly arriving at ORP Hammer, we took to a second story building which gave us a decent overview of the colony block. From there, I began to assign fronts and sectors of fire for each platoon to take when they got there. Then, I opened a connection to crossroads. "Crossroads, this is Shooter Actual. I request Grimm Assets to make landfall within approximately twelve mikes. Positions marked on BFT, how copy?"

_《__Solid Copy Shooter Actual. Grimm Assets standing by__》_

These "Grimm Assets" were of course Reapers. I'm hoping they can do some damage to the remaining Titans and get their attention for my Grunts to finish them off once they're within our killzone. We'll use firesupport to suppress Militia riflemen while we engage the titans, and hopefully we do this quick; I don't think those drones will hold off pilots much longer. Every minute we stay here more Marines are gonna die, how much longer do we have to hold these god damned harvesters before we can just blow 'em and leave? We've already won at this point, this just Spyglass pushing his luck to see how much he can get out of it.

My team and I immediately got to prepping the engagement zone: my Marines would be fighting those enemy Titans right now. As the sounds of gunfire and battle intensified, my suspicions were in fact clear that Apache, Wesson, and Caliburn Platoons had in fact hit the enemy titans and their supporting infantry. Meanwhile, my squad was placing down hard covers and AMP Walls for Marines to fall back too, along with Satchel Charges placed where terrorist forces were likely to take cover. I had even called up some units of Spectres to help provide covering fire. At some point during our preparations, I could hear my team's radio once again crackle to life.

_《__This is Caliburn, Enemy titan neutralized by Archer Missile Fire. Hostile infantry is pushing us back, but we're leaving anyways.__》_

_《__Apache, Titan dealt with. Falling back now, and we've got company.__》_

_《__Brimstone this is Wesson!__》_

Brimstone was our weapons Mortar section, currently being commanded by Graph.

_《__This is Brimstone, send your traffic__》_

_《__We've hit a Legion, can't crack it and taking heavy casualties. Requesting N2 Directed Shell at grid 18990154.__》_

_《__Are you sure you can escape the blast radius? It's 80 meters at lowest yield.__》_

_《__I fucking hope so, but we're not leaving till this Legion is cooked.__》_

_《__Understood. Firing round now. 30 seconds 'till impact.__》_

_《__Got it, Wesson out.__》_

I took out my BluFor tracker and stylus and drew out the battle plan from there, telling of where the enemy Titans were likely to converge from, since their movement was restricted by where they could fit. With that in mind, I placed down the points where I wanted those Reapers to drop onto, as well as where I wanted my Marines to set up and fight. I boxed up several engagement areas and numbered them for ease of reference, then established our next attack point assuming things go right and then an Alternate Rally Point for if they go wrong. I then also designated Casualty Collection Points, here and an alternate near the ARP since I've all but confirmed we've been beat up rather decently. At some point during my jotting, it seemed for a bit that the whole world shook with a thunderous roar that drowned out all the sounds of battle and even caused some interference with my HUD: the N2 Shell. I got my head down and put my eyes to the sky to check for any falling debris as a result of the massive explosion.

Non-Nuclear Weapons, also known as N2 Weapons, referred primarily to a type of explosive that was capable of generating nuclear level yields without the nasty radiation side effects. N2 Shaped Charges, or Directed warheads, focused all that power into a specific point or area; usually vaporizing whatever was caught in its path. N2 Directed Mortar Shells luckily weren't super powerful; they are made to be fired out of an 80mm Mortar Tube afterall. Since they're an airburst shaped charge, they could be used against individual titans, however the overpressure shockwave still was lethal to humans around the target. With the blast over, I awaited to hear the effect on target from Wesson. I eventually got my answer, but the voice over the radio was clearly not the same one that called for the strike.

_《__Brimstone, this is Wesson. Good effect on target, break-break. Wesson is now moving to ORP Hammer.__》_

The cracks and pops of gunfire had returned to the streets and once again they came alive with movement. Spotting my Marines moving down one of the streets towards us, my team sprung into action along with a unit of Spectres to assist covering them. They were carrying injured, so moving was dangerous without supporting fire. As my team of Marines got on line, the Spectres began to advance, laying down covering fire with their rifles against the advancing militia onslaught. By the looks of it, the Militia had a number of plainclothes insurgents alongside some M-COR riflemen. "You all Caliburn?" I shouted to the nearest Marine as he ran on by.

"Yes, Sir!" The Marine spoke. "The Command Team broke off westward to get an observatory position in a banking complex!"

"Alright, set the wounded then get to your designated fighting positions. We'll cover you."

"Aye aye!" With that, the Marine turned around and began to fire off his R201 at the direction of the enemy, driving some insurgents to cover while the rest of his team, each with another Marine in hand, moved up past him. At that point, battle handoff was to me. Lifting my own R201 assault rifle, I quickly glanced left and right to recognize that my radio operator, and company Gunnery Sergeant were to my immediate flanks. I then ordered my Corpsman to go assist at the CCP, so he broke off.

"Alright, it's our turn! One every three!" I commanded, and us three Marines began to talk rifles with the enemy. Dropping to a knee, I stabilized myself as best as I could while I placed the reticle of the AOG center mass of my target. Since it was zeroed for 100 meters, I adjusted my aim a little high (engaging targets at this point roughly 50 meters away). Keeping calm was always difficult, but combat marksmanship was a skill learned. I tried to maintain somewhat natural breathing, but of course stress and fear made it somewhat erratic. Still, it was time to fight not think; my internal clock counted three seconds, and I fired. My shot went wide and narrowly missed the insurgent, going off to his right because I jerked the trigger. Still, it sent him ducking for cover, so on to the next one. 'Try not to overthink it', I told myself as I began to squeeze down on the trigger. With a push into my shoulder, my rifle kicked up as the insurgent went down: 8.19mm round tearing through his kit as I nailed him right in the ten-inch ring. He'd be dead within the next thirty-seconds. The other Marines were also taking their disciplined shots at individual targets, but it became clear we weren't slowing down the enemy advance. Luckily it seemed that those Spectres were taking majority of the enemy fires. So, I changed my orders: "Fire at will!"

Our disciplined rate of fire fell into a fusillade of hammer and controlled pairs, as troopers in white armor began to pull box drills and failures to stop on insurgents who began to get a little too close for comfort. Within the 25 meter mark, I acquired another target, and with that one sight picture fired two shots. He jerked back as blood began to seep through his gear and pour down his chest, even spitting some up onto his chin, telling of his lung wound. Still, he was standing, so I lined my third shot and put one right between his eyes in the center of his T-Box. He fell forward as bloody grey matter flew back, both hitting the deck at roughly the same time. Insurgent numbers had been held back by the mix of suppression from the Spectres and the accuracy of my men, but now they'd begun to focus on fires rather than movement; one drone sent out a series of jittery chirps as it sparked and cracked with hits and fell to the ground. In response, Gunnery Sergeant Feliz pulled the pin on a grenade and called "Frag out!" as he let fly. Four and a half seconds later, the street was covered in smoke and debris as fragmentation tore at the ground and prefabricated buildings, ripping flesh and leaving ears ringing. At such point, even I couldn't exactly find who to kill, but the remaining three Spectres went right to work: they assaulted into the insurgent positions. I couldn't see the carnage through the smoke, but considering the insurgents couldn't have seen them coming, I was fairly confident that this attack had been stalled.

Between heavy breaths, I once again opened up my personal comms. "Six to Four."

_《__This is Four, we've done what we can with these Titans but they aren't surprised anymore. They're advancing your way and we're breaking off.__》_

"Understood. Take what remains of Eyeball and provide assistance to Wesson."

_《__Will comply.__》_

"Six Out." The smoke had begun to clear, and the three Spectres stood there more or less covered in blood with a variety of insurgent bodies at their feet, each beaten to a pulp, ragged, and limp. Whatever remained of the insurgents had to be falling back, and gathered another 50 meters back down the road to escape having to fight the robots in hand to hand. Then, a series of familiar clinks and clacks accompanied by the recognizable chirps of a dying robot came with the ripping of metal and one drone dropped, followed by another in short order. I knew that was troublesome: insurgents aren't known for their accuracy, especially in full auto like that.

From a nearby rooftop came forth a pilot in green and orange, sliding across the dirt as the thrusters of his jumpkit burned, dropping the third Spectre as he did so before turning to my radio man. Acting fast, I jumped into my Marine, knocking him over a moment before the pilot could pull the trigger. There, while laying on top of my man, I fired my rifle full auto as he slid along the floor. My shots failed to connect. Kicking myself back up, I watched as the pilot went effortlessly from a slide into a jump and kicked off the prefabricated wall of a building back towards us. I ducked down as I pulled the trigger, and the sequence of many deafening cracks announced he was firing at me. His shots went high, mine went low. What came next was about what I expected; a midair kick, which went just over my head. I had done it before, so the pilot clearly didn't know who he was fucking with; I lifted my arms up quickly, the barrel of my rifle colliding under the pilot's thigh and causing him to flip backwards as he went over me. Adrenaline pumping through my body, I quickly turned around and rushed forward as the pilot skidded on his back into an abandoned vehicle, imprinting himself into it's side door with a metallic thud, a boney crunch, and a scream of agony. Still, I lifted my boot and used my momentum to give a jump kick of my own, planting my heel against his crotch for him to roll forward with another, this time higher, pitched wail. As he coiled forward, I lowered my rifle and pulled the trigger, letting free two rounds at point blank; the first pierced through the top of his skull and came out his jaw before going into his torso, the second entering similarly but exiting out the side of his neck. Probably cut through a decent amount of spine. Either way, the pilot was left a cut up, broken boned, red soaked corpse.

As I observed the cadaver, I took note of the old Militia Rifleman Pilot armor. Probably a hand me down from whoever trained this man. I turned back to the advancing insurgents, now that those Spectres were destroyed, there weren't much holding them back. However, perhaps if I let them know who they were fucking with, that'd dissuade them a bit. Nobody wants to push into the jaws that just killed their best man. I hoisted up the dead pilot by his flak, neck injury still gushing with arterial bleeding, and hauled him to the middle of the street. He was fucking heavy, the dead always are. I then hip tossed the body onto the hud of a car, sprawling him out for all to see before letting from my lungs a holler to get their attention. Several buckets looked up in my direction, and my plan worked. With morale broken, their advance stalled. Turning back to my Marines, they had a mix of amazement and horror on their faces. "Let's get back to our guys." I said coming past them.

"Uh, Cap..."

My walk turned into a bit of a stumble as I passed them, and my head started to groan as the adrenaline subsided. What followed was a bunch of hurt. My chest felt battered, but that seemed to be the least of my problems. The right side of my hip had this burning feeling combined with intense pain that made my stomach churn and turn to nausea. I instinctively gripped at my injury, gloved fingertip dipping into a hole that pushed past my uniform and into my skin, being coated in a thick warm fluid that I knew had to be blood, but I lifted my hand to see the crimson fluid anyways. "Fuck." I cursed as pain came to replace my rush of energy. Moving was awkward, but right now I didn't have the time for weakness. If those insurgents caught on that I'd been injured, they'd surely rush us. "C'mon, let's go!"

We broke contact and made the way back to ORP Hammer, where I then met with the platoon commanders of my line platoons, as well as my 1st Sergeant, Oscar, who had been leading my specialist section. Each and every one of us were dirt covered, visually battered, our uniforms charred and ripped from the intense fighting we'd been having for the past hour. I'd known these men for a good while now, however I noticed I was missing a familiar face. Oscar began to give me a SITREP as I limped on up due to my injury. "The Company's been hit pretty bad, but we've still got fight for those three titans. Admiral Spyglass intends on extracting us from here, once the LZ is clear." He reported, his synthesized simulacrum voice ever being an annoyance. It sounds almost like the real Oscar.

"Of course they'd want to pick us up right at our engagement area." I said, annoyed. "That's the order to kill those fucking titans; they don't die, we don't leave." I then unhooked my helmet and took it off to scratch at my head a bit. Looking over my Platoon Commanders, I noticed Staff Sergeant Aikens standing in for Wesson's 2nd Lieutenant Carver. I opted not to inquire, since I knew that meant he was either injured or dead. "The plan still stands." I announce, buckling my bucket back on. "While y'all were falling back, I placed satchel charges ready for detonation and hard cover for our troops. Take positions there and be ready for enemy assault. Brimstone is gonna come up and reinforce us, but we're not gonna have mortar support then. Oscar, I want you to quickly take Eyeball and set us up some pilot sentries: I doubt they'll move in without pilot support since we just merc'd one."

A series of nods and acknowledgements followed as we broke off. Platoon commanders began issuing orders to what remained of their squads as Oscar and several other simulacra brought forth pilot sentries and placed them in covered and concealed positions along likely avenues of approach for a pilot. At this point I was sure we were outnumbered roughly three to one, but those aren't odds I'm afraid of. I sat my ass down in a small little dugout to protect myself from any further incoming fire along with my radio man while Gunny Feliz provided security. I pulled out a number of detonators, each associated with one of the satchel charges my team had placed. When I got the word the enemy was in position, I'd begin to detonate them. Then, a familiar simulacrum came down next to me. "You okay, Dare?"

"I'm fine, First Sergeant." I replied, maybe with a bit of venom in my voice. I couldn't help it; I hated this thing. This robot here who had the voice, personality, and memories that belonged to my best friend. John had died on that Vinson Dynamics operating table years ago. This hunk of metal merely stole his name.

"Looks like you got a little roughed up there." He said, referring to my injury which I had forgot to treat. He came a little closer, but I didn't want it to touch me.

"There are other Marines much more worse off than me. This is nothing." I shook my head. I needed to get him away from me. "Call Graph, tell him to get the Mortar Section up here for support."

"Yes... Sir." The simulacrum seemed to get the message, and turned around. I eyed it with prejudice as it exited my little fighting hole, and continued to organize my detonators. My radio crackled to life as I did so.

_《__Five, this is Four.__》_

_《__Send for Five.__》_

_《__Shooter Actual wants Brimstone up here for our final engagement.__》_

_《__Roger, we are Oscar Mike.__》_

Only once they were all laid out did I pull out a packing bandage from my first aid kit. I knew how much this was going to suck, so I called the radio man and Feliz over to help me out. I removed my belt and stuck it in my mouth before I had my Marine hold me down. Gunny Feliz then slowly approached me, ramping up my anxiety as his hands approached the hole in my flesh, blood seeping through like a weak hose. The then plugged it; his middle finger on the right hand going knuckle deep into my skin to stem the bleeding. I shook, and kicked, biting down hard onto my belt as I let forth wails into it. He then began to start packing in the gauze. These moments felt like eternities as I dealt with pain I at one point would have regarded as insufferable. You see, it's not getting injured that sucks: it's getting fixed. With the hole plugged with gauze, a bandage was quickly wrapped around my waistband to hold it in place so it didn't fall out. When all was said and done, I turned over and let the contents of my churned guts roll from my face as I was overtaken with nausea. Then, with tears in my eyes, snot dripping from my nose, and MRE upon my chin and lower lip, I sat back up taking deep breaths. Wipe my face on the forearm of my uniform, then back to work.

It was only a few minutes before the enemy began their assault; the Titans had decided to take care of most my drones pinning down the 6-4 before sweeping in to finish us. So there would indeed be hostile pilots coming at us. At the scale of our raid, Spyglass had determined that Titan and pilot support wouldn't be necessary, but I really wanted some. Luckily, this was our battlefield: enemy fire was more or less ineffective due to the hardcover we had managed to set up, and Graph's men had just arrived. I had him be overall commander for Apache, Caliburn, Wesson, and Brimstone in the engagement, figuring since I was injured I wouldn't be the best for moving and shooting at the moment. Rounds filled the air as shots from attacking insurgents cut through gaps and unprotected lanes. Every once in a while there were screams, presumably an insurgent's but that could have been anyone. I'm told a team of Four 6-4 Pilots had attacked during the initial first wave, and managed to fuck up a good number of us with gravity stars, pulling some multiple Marines out from their particle shield walls and exposing them to enemy fire. However, that didn't save them from pilot sentries. I had received word that the three titans advancing on us were a Scorch, Ronin, and Ion. All titans good for farming us Grunts. Guess we got lucky taking down that Legion early. "Call for Grimm." I said to my radio man.

"Aye aye, Sir." He responded, before lifting the handset to his long range radio up. "Crossroads, this is Shooter."

_《__Shooter, Crossroads, send your traffic__》_

"Shooter requesting deployment of Grimm marked on BFT, time now."

_《__Request acknowledged. Grimm assets deployed, impact in ten seconds.__》_

"Tango Crossroads, Shooter Out." With that, the two of us (Feliz kept on lookout for advancing enemy) looked to the sky as six objects burned through the atmosphere: that was Grimm, our Reapers. If their landing was as planned, they'd land behind the Titans and in the ranks of the Militia infantry to help disrupt their attack and draw fire. Communications was constant, as it usually is during fighting. I awaited the signal to detonate charges.

_《__Wesson, and Apache is taking heavy casualties, that Scorch is pushing hard. Ion seems to be more or less ineffective however... Eyeball commence interception against hostile Ronin.__》_

_《__Copy Brimstone Actual, Eyeball engaging Ronin with Mag Launchers.__》_

_《__Enemy infantry at point three.__》_

At that, I took detonator three, and pulled it, confident one of the explosions that happened following the action was my satchel charge going off.

_《__...Good effect, enemy infantry neutralized... Hostiles on point five__》_

I picked up detonator five and triggered it.

_《__Yep, those are kills. Grimm two, three, five, and six is destroyed, however the Scorch has taken heavy damage and the Ion is still rather occupied. Eyeball, SITREP?__》_

_《__This is Eyeball, enemy Ronin has been engaged, taking casualties but it's taking damage. Preparing for our next strike, over.__》_

_《__Understood Eyeball. Apache has just taken care of the hostile Ion with Archer Missiles. Beware, pilot ejected. Caliburn.__》_

_《__Caliburn has taken heavy casualties, but this scorch is about toast.__》_

_《__Roger. Requesting detonation on point two... Good hit, now hit One... Nice.__》_

_《__This is Eyeball, Enemy Ronin Reactor Core has been exposed, moving in for th- NUKE! FALL BACK!__》_

There, my hands froze for a second, though I couldn't tell why. Specialists are all simulacra; copies of a human intelligence. Robots. It's not like I cares about them. Perhaps I was merely worried that I had lost assets that could be used to save some of my Marines. A bright flash cut through the sky along with an earth rattling detonation of a nuclear core. Streets filled with debris as some buildings collapsed and were blown away. A cascade of debris fell upon us, and we all got as low as possible to shield us from the damaging shockwave. Such an attack had disrupted the entire battlefield.

_《__Gah, agh. All Callsigns, report!__》_

_《__Apache, we're fighting. Hard Cover assets have been damned. Over.__》_

_《__...C-c... Caliburn. Casualties taken, but the Militia over here are in retreat.__》_

_《__Wesson. We're fucked up, but we're up__》_

_《__Brimstone here.__》_

_《__...Eyeball this is Brimstone Actual, Radio Check.__》_

_《__...__》_

_《__Eyeball, this is Brimstone Actual, Radio Check.__》_

There was a long pause of communications silence. I had begun to stomach that they'd all been killed by the blast, or if it was a fission reactor then they'd all been hit by the EMP. As of now, however, they were MIA until their fate could be determined. Still, at least it seemed that the Militia had began to call off their attack and fallen into disarray. I stood up to observe the battlefield, which had indeed been gruesome. Gore accompanied by bodily fluids of all kinds stained the ground, both where bodies lay and where injured had crawled off either to save themselves or die. Even now, Marines were moving eachother to the CCP with a wide variety of injuries from apparent ballistics wounds to amputations, broken bones, and thermite burns. The air stunk of a disgusting concoction made up from gunpowder, thermite, charred flesh, shit, piss, and death. To those not ready for it, it'd have made them vomit.

_《__Militia forces are withdrawing. All forces consolidate.__》_

That meant we had won that fight. Although this came at too great a cost. Marines weren't a dime a dozen like most the Militia seemed to believe, or at least not the Marines of Sigma Company. Too much death for too little gained, no matter how many extra drones Spyglass could make at this rate. I lead my command team to the CCP, full of injured, dead, and dying warfighters as a medical team of around five Corpsmen tried to save as many lives as possible. One of the Corpsmen, mine, spotted me and immediately recognized my injury. "Sir! You're hit!"

"I know. That's not important though. Fight's won, evac is on the way. I'm getting the wounded out first, so we're calling CASEVAC." I then turned to my radio operator and held out my hand for him to give me his handset. Upon receiving it, he made sure that that he was on the channel with crossroads. "Crossroads, Shooter Actual."

_《__Receiving, send for Crossroads.__》_

"LZ is clear, send down CASEVAC first. Stand by for CASEVAC Nine-Line."

_《__Roger, standing by.__》_

I pull out a little notebook I had kept in my cargo pocket and quickly turn it to the page in which I had written all this down. No matter how many times I do this I just can't seem to remember all these words. I then also hold out a hand, and Doc gives me a slip of paper with casualty counts to assist in my delivery. "Line one, ORP Hammer, Grid 1,8,9,8,7,5,3,3... Line two, same frequency, same call sign... Line three, eleven urgent, nineteen priority... thirty routine... Line four, stretchers and ventilators... break." I had to take a moment to digest the numbers I had just announced. That was 60% of my Company, not including whatever casualties were taken by Eyeball, and that could be all of them. And nearly half of those men are dead. "Line five... forty-one litter, fifteen ambulatory... Line Six, Possible Enemy... Line seven, marked by panel... Line eight, fifty-six IMC Military... Line nine, wartime."

_《__Roger, reading back Grid 18987533, same freq same callsign, eleven urgent, nineteen priority, thirty routine. Stretchers and ventilators, break... Forty-one Litter, Fifteen Ambulatory. Possible enemy in area, marked by panel, fifty-six IMC Military, and wartime.__》_

"Good readback Crossroads, Shooter Actual Out." I then returned the handset and looked back to the Doc. "I'm gonna leave Z-MISTs to you." I said, and he nodded. That was always one of the hardest parts; calling in the Casualty Evac. These were my men, and somehow someway I'm the one who got them hurt. I'm responsible for them, and the cruel reality of war is that I can't make any promises. I can't promise them they'll come back, and I can't promise their families they'll see eachother again. Of course, I forgot to include me in the nine-line, but I wasn't about to be CASEVAC'd out of here to leave my men. Not like Demeter. I walked out the CCP and helped organize security for the landing zone as men continued to collect up bodies, bagging them up and moving them, along with the wounded, in preparation for extraction. It seemed that it was clear we were getting out of here too, for the Militia didn't want to push us. Which meant they probably didn't have a reason to, since if Spyglass was still siphoning their harvesters then surely they'd have continued fucking with us.

Casualties were evacuated swiftly and by the numbers, bodies put into a different Goblin than the injured, stacked as neatly as time allowed within their body bags. Onboard medical techs immediately began their work on the living, trying to save the dying as they were transported to the Battle Aid Station. My heart sunk knowing a few more would die on the table. My company here had been effectively rendered combat ineffective. The IMC needs more Marines, these robots weren't saving anyone. Eyeball had still yet to turn up, no matter how hard we looked. But we couldn't stay forever, eventually militia reinforcements would show up and then they could easily roll us over. As life would have it, I spoke too soon when I heard;

_《__All stations this is Crossroads, enemy titanfall incoming!__》_

The last of us were getting on the remaining Goblins when it struck. A thunderous roar which shattered buildings and nearly caused the dropship to crash. Some of Brimstone, including Graph, and I were about to step aboard when the world shook once again, this time more violently than ever. I dunno what got me to turn around, but I did and what I saw horrified me; it had to be some sort of titan. This giant roughly 80 meter fucking mech stood towering above most the buildings, and with it's yellow and orange colored segmented heavy armor, it screamed Militia. I swear, I nearly accepted my fate there, but that wasn't an option. Though I was overcome by fear to the point that I had easily shit and pissed myself, I knew in the back of my head that if I didn't do anything now, my Marines were gonna die. An IMC Phantom came down firing rockets and guns, which would have destroyed even Ogre-Class titans, but this thing was another entirely. The shots collided harmlessly off this apparent multi-spectral shield, lighting up on impact in a glorious rainbow pattern along a hexagonal field. If it could take that, I knew there was only one thing I could try. "Graph!" I shouted, turning around to see him absolutely dumbstruck simply looking up at the thing. "Graph!" I hollered again, grabbing his attention. His face must have mirrored mine, because I could tell just by his expression he was thinking what I was: 'we're so fucked'. "I need an N2 shell and a Mortar!" I commanded, and after a moment his eyes furrowed.

_"Are you fucking insane, Captain?!"_

"Oh hell yeah I am! Now get me my Mortar and an N2 shell!" He shook his head at first before looking over to the Marine next to him, a mortarman, and nodding. The Marine handed me an 80mm launch tube, and one Directed N2 shell. I placed the shell in one of my pouches and put the heavy mortar over my shoulders, using my pack to prop it up, and stepped off the Goblin.

"But Dare!" Graph shouted at me, but I didn't have time. I had to quickly find a place to fire this thing from. Then, the Super-Titan began to move; each step was like a miniature earthquake, and whatever building was unfortunate to be in its path easily crumbled to dust while this Super-Titan thing marched on. Luckily, it was pretty much already coming towards me; probably to intercept the Marine's dropship. I couldn't let that happen. I picked a five story building offset from it's apparent path, and sprinted my way there with trousers full of whatever bodily fluids I had left in me up until the thing's arrival. I couldn't breath, my lungs were on fire, my back ached from carrying this heavy metal tube, and my hips screamed at me due to injury, with warm liquid beginning to once again drip down my right leg. I rushed through the door and up the stairs, dodging incoming debris and trying to get as high as I could, the roof preferably. Unfortunately, there was no roof access I could get to, so the fifth floor had to do. Then, while setting myself up at the window, I recognized I had no way of getting direct fire onto this thing. I had to figure it out now though, as the Super-Titan was coming just into what I wanted to be my engagement area. So, here's what I did; I picked a spot on the wall across from the window, stacked the mortar against it, moved a desk over to prop it up, and manually aimed the bitch to fire right at the Super-Titan like a makeshift cannon. From my window, I could see its pelvic girdle, which was a best a target I could hope for; if I could immobilize it my Marines would be safe. So, target acquired, I took my N2 Shell, and slid (practically tossed) it down the tube, wherein the mortar spat it back out at high velocity (and destroyed the wall).

The next thing I remember was a blinding light blasting off the Super-Titan's crotch followed by intense heat and pressure of the shockwave, which of course demolished my building and sent it (with me) to the ground. I was unconscious for whatever happened next, I didn't even know if I had stopped it. When I came too, I was told that the Super-Titan had been immobilized by a direct impact from a directional N2 shell to the pelvic girdle, that the rest of the company had made it out safely, I was found covered in a shit ton of blood that they say wasn't mine, it was a miracle I was alive, and... well... First Sergeant had apparently found me in the rubble.


	2. Chapter 2

_"She is ARES property, we created her!"_

I am awakened from my slumber, though I'm not really sure when I fell asleep. My last memories are a blur. I remember pain. I remember disappointment. I also remember this ceiling; the ceiling of a hospital room. I had spent much of my time in such rooms, being examined and studied to ensure my health was in good order, as was expected of me since my creation some fourteen years ago. Without even glancing, I can tell I lie upon a hospital bed. Based upon the feel of the garment clothing me, I can tell I'm clothed in a medical gown. I can tell, that I am not well. My right arm has been immobilized in a cast, and I lack the right side of my vision. My torso is in pain, and breathing is somewhat difficult. I remember that I had sustained these injuries in a test link with my Evangelion; a large humanoid robot made for battle with technologies otherwise unknown to the rest of the frontier. Although I'm unsure when "Evangelion" became its name to me; everyone else calls it a "Super-Titan"; a grander and more powerful version of the fearsome battle mechs used by elite warriors known as pilots throughout the Frontier Wars. However, to call it a "Super-Titan" would be to imply it is some form of titan, when the Evangelion simply feels much more than a titan could ever be. And, I don't know how, but the term "Evangelion" or "Eva" simply feels more... familiar.

"Bull-fucking-shit, Marder!"

I recognize that voice as Major Vargas, the Nerv Planetary Operations Officer. He is my direct superior, even if he was not exclusively Nerv. He comes from the IMC's Robotic Enhancement Section Combat Unit (RESCU). However, it was him who had been appointed to lead groundside operations for Nerv, an IMC Division made specifically for the operation and deployment of the Evangelions and the Research and Development of Super-Titan related technologies. It is a joint effort between many Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation (IMC) affiliated groups, another measure and weapon to weild against the Frontier Militia. I'm unsure exactly when this war started, only that it had been going on for a long time. I've spoken to much of the Nerv staff about it, so that I could learn who I was fighting. My knowledge on the Militia is that they are criminals of various types: everything from tax-evader to anarchist and pirate. They are insurgents and terrorists who want to disrupt order, and prey upon the defenseless in their efforts to do so. Murderers who use civilians and non-combatants as shields, traitors hiding behind the mask of loyal IMCs citizens. Or so I'm told. I have little in regards to loyalties, or ideals, to fight for. I'm not a citizen which this war effects. The IMC had created me, but as a tool to fight and study. While one could say I owe them for my life, I would argue exactly that; nobody else has grown up as I have as far as I can tell. Where is my childhood? Not that I care. The fact of the matter is that I exist, and this existence has some sort of purpose.

"I swear I'll have you charged, Major! Insubordination! Larceny! All to take my assets out on a meaningless playdate!"

That was the voice of General Marder, the commanding officer of the IMC Archaeological Research Division. Marder, unlike Vargas, is not a member of Nerv directly. The General merely provides Nerv with scientific support, and are responsible for the creation of the Evas, as well as myself. I do not imagine he was happy when those assets were given to another division, especially Nerv which did not exist when those discoveries were made. However, because of the research and funding supplied, he has a deal of influence over the agency, and I believe he intends to use it as if Nerv was his own. While I understand why such would upset Vargas and the other Nerv staff, I once again have no care.

"She's a product of ARES R&D, Sir, but she's my pilot! She falls under my chain of command and this ain't no playdate!"

"So she must be one of RESCU's toys now? You've gotten too attached to the clone, Vargas!"

"Curb your horsepiss, Marder! She's a Nerv pilot, and I'm a Nerv officer, at least for now. RESCU doesn't give a damn about ARES shenanigans."

"Major I'd advise you to check your tone when addressing a superior officer."

"I already did. Came to the conclusion the one I'm using is appropriate. General, you're not going to stop me from utilizing my assets in my operations. This conversation is over."

"Colonel Merkava with hear about this, Major!"

"Good. I hope he does." Major Vargas then walked into my room, the doors sliding open with the all familiar whir of their automation. His robotic joints were near completely silent, cylindrical metallic legs and flat feet tapping against the ceramic floor. I turn my head, compensating for my lack of vision to confirm it is indeed who I believe it is, making out the glowing rectangular visor of the simulacrum. Simulacra are robotic humanoids with the minds and memories of human warriors imprinted in them, usually when exceptional soldiers such as pilots are critically injured. They exist as a way for warfighters to continue fighting past even death. Major Vargas has never told me how or why he became a simulacrum, and I've never asked. He was dressed in his Service Uniform, a grey collared shirt and white undershirt, with a grey-blue tie, trousers, black shoes, and a white garrison cap. "Rei." He stated my name as he took a place next to the medical bed, resting his steely grip on the edge. "How are you feeling?"

"I have sustained damag-"

"I know, and that's my fault." The Major interrupted me. I don't see how. Nobody could have predicted the Eva would have responded the way it did. Nobody but me, and I didn't raise any concerns. I felt it reject me the moment I was sealed inside of it, but without evidence to present I continued with the test. The result was of course the machine losing control. "The doctors have patched you up as much as they can. Time is what's needed to heal the rest of it. So, do you think you can carry out a mission for me?"

"I can fight."

"No, you can't, but that's not what I'm asking. I just need you to accompany me."

"...Yes, Sir." I then sit up, ignoring the objections my torso gives as I do so. "Where are we going?"

"Several places. Mostly to pick up some new faces."

"I understand." The Major was more or less a straightforward person. Or at least I believe him to be. It's hard to read a robot, unlike humans simulacra don't have expressions that can be told by just a glance. Still, Vargas doesn't feel like a robot. He's a calculating person, but not like how a machine is. He's precise, but abstract in it. I've not seen him fight, but I can tell he's a warrior worthy of renown. It's the way he carries himself, the way he thinks. It's tactical, efficient, brutal, maybe even malicious. A robot can't be that; it's methods are for efficiency, not brutality. It's the presence of personal grudge that separates Vargas from any common drone. I spot my uniform in the corner of the room, and slide off the medical bed to approach them. The tile is cold against my bare feet as I walk across it. I cast aside the medical gown to put on the female service uniform of the IMC Marine Corps, but quickly find that even getting the white undershirt on is difficult with my right arm encased in its cast. Eventually I am able to move onto the grey collared shirt, although even that presented a challenge. As I struggle, I am assisted by the metal appendages of the Major, who helps me get the casted arm through the blouse. I then put on the white knee length skirt, followed by the grey-blue stockings and finally the black dress shoes. I look myself over, making sure my shirt is tightly tucked before putting on my grey-blue tie and grabbing my stoic white garrison cap. The cap had the bright golden insignia of a Second Lieutenant, that being the rank given to me once I had finished my training, and kept ever since. Since we were indoors, I didn't put it on. I then turned back to face the Major. He just nodded before we left the room together.

He never told me where we were going. He merely led me through the massive underground facility that had been built underneath the surface of the planet, a large several hundred kilometer excavated subterranean space. A place called the Geofront. It housed many different compounds within it; living spaces, factories of various sorts, training grounds, warehouses, all of which one would need to run a small army and navy, because that was the facility's purpose. This Geofront had originally been created as the primary headquarters for RESCU, on the planet Cerulean; a frozen death world in the Frontier Outback perfect for hiding military operations. This is exactly why sections of it had been commandeered by Nerv, since the secret of the Evangelions was deemed just as if not more valuable than whatever RESCU had stored. Eventually, we of course made it to a launch pad, where a Goblin dropship had been awaiting us. The angular craft allowed us to embark through its side entrance, then the doors closed automatically. After the Major had spoken a quick word through his internal communications transmitter, the craft was off. It approached one of the many hatches in the GeoFront's ceiling that opened to the surface, but never once did it actually touch them; the dropship had phased into the Upside Down, an alternate dimension where-in space is compressed and many entities, such as the freezing temperatures and weather of the Cerulean surface, did not exist. It had to, if it were to leave the planet's atmosphere in one piece: Cerulean was cold enough to flash freeze much of the craft, killing its engine and making the hull brittle and susceptible to impact, and if there was any sort of weather (much less the violent hailstorms that often occur) it'd be likely to force a crash. As a result, phasing into the Upside Down is the only way to get from the surface of the planet to beyond the atmosphere.

I didn't expect to be going off world, but I don't question it. I simply stand there, silent as the Major stands next to me. Once again I can't read anything from the simulacrum. There are only slight uncomforts as the dropship prepares to utilize the Upside Down as a means of faster than light travel, warping itself to our destination at a speed several times that of light. Inertial dampeners are used to make the otherwise unbearable acceleration and change in velocity to something that might be described as a slight annoyance. Despite its bothersome tendencies however, I attempt to enjoy it. If for no other reason that it is only on rare occasion do I actually get to leave Cerulean; that sphere of cold death is all I really know in the Frontier. Sometimes I get visions, or hallucinations, of a place I've never known but feel attached to. As far as I can tell however, that place exists neither in this area of space or time; it's all archaic compared to what lies around now.

Some silent hours later, the dropship comes out of the Upside Down rather suddenly, but to us on the inside the g-forces experienced are minimal. From the viewport I spot the nearest celestial object to be a planetary moon with scattered biodomes covering its surface. I know not the name of the moon or it's planet, however I don't believe it matters. I find it extremely unlikely that I will be here for very long. The moon was of such size and mass, that is lacking in such, that it had no atmosphere to speak of. The Goblin instead descended upon one of its many biodomes, and made a landing upon an external landing pad. The biodome then began to retract the pad into its hull, its heavy jaw-like doors coming to a close. The platform continued to move, a steady series of whirs and clunks as it seemed to glide along its tracks until being brought to a stop where the dropship doors had finally opened. I noticed that Major Vargas had put his cover on as he stepped from the craft, and did the same; taking note that this was considered "outdoors" within the biodome. Marching down the streets of the habitat, I began to formulate that this was some middle class living space, full of tall apartment buildings. Some reached nearly as high as the dome itself. The Major quickly hailed down a vehicle, some sort of taxi, for more expedient transportation. The car was angular and a strong bright yellow, easy to spot amongst the other cars making their way across the complex. I assume the transaction was done wirelessly, since other than a simple greeting neither our driver nor the Major exchanged words or currency between them. The ride, just as the one on the Goblin, was quiet.

When we disembarked, we found ourselves at the entrance of a large hospital, not unlike the one I had been in some hours ago. I found this peculiar, as I didn't think we would be paying a visit to a patient. Perhaps we were here to see a doctor, but that wouldn't explain why I had to come along. Although, that would assume me accompanying was actually vital when it could very well not have been. Just as I had copied the Major when he put his cover on, I copied him as he took it off inside the facility. He then walked up to the receptions desk, paying no mind to the line that was there, and spoke to the clerk there. "We're here to see the patient in room 542." He stated, answering who we're here to pick up. We were quickly authorized into the hospital after being properly identified, and made our way to the nearest elevator onto deck 5. From there it was only down a few corridors until we reached a door marked '542'. With the scan of a visitor pass given to the Major when we signed in, the door hummed open. I was slightly surprised at what I saw inside, but I kept my bearing. There, sitting upon the medical bed covered in the blue-green medical gown was a young boy, who couldn't have been older than I am. He had a well tanned skin tone, probably some light skinned bi-racial, with emerald green eyes and blonde hair that left me perplexed about the child's origin. I almost came to the conclusion he had been created as I had, but then he wouldn't have been here in this hospital. "Who are you?" Was his first response, his voice in an accent which I had learned to be called 'General American', which I am told is common among the general Frontier population.

"Sebastian, my name is Vargas." The Major started, moving closer to the child in the medic bed. I followed close behind, but as we were walking, the simulacrum turned and glanced at me for a moment that felt like three. Something told me he was trying to convey something to me, and I did my best to understand, but I can't read his expressionless glowing faceplate. He then nodded at me, and I decided I would attempt to keep quiet for most of this. That would be easy enough; I felt no need to speak anyhow. He then continued to walk towards the child, Sebastian. "And this is Ayanami. We're with the Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation Marine Corps. Pilots." That was true for at least one of us; the term 'Pilot' generally refers to the elite soldiers that are well augmented, trained, and equipped. A pilot has unrivaled maneuverability over a battlefield, equipped with a jumpkit of thrusters which allow him to leap great distances and fall considerable heights, scale walls and buildings, and traverse battlefields at amazing speeds up to and above 40 kilometers per hour. All of this is in addition to operating the armored humanoid war machines known as Titans. Major Vargas was such a warrior, and I was nothing of the sort. The only similarity between me and the Major was that I had a war machine of my own; I was a pilot in that I piloted an Evangelion Super-Titan, and nothing more. However, the boy didn't answer, merely furrowing his brow in our direction. He didn't trust us. I wouldn't either. "I'm very sorry for what you've been through. I'm sorry we couldn't protect your family from those terrorists."

"Spare the ass kissin'!" Sebastian bit back throwing his arm towards us as if to wave us away. "What do you want?"

The Major and I stood there for a second, I was wondering what the Major would do next, waiting on his decision. "Look, Sebastian..." He began before reaching over to bring himself a stool to sit on. Purely a symbolic gesture; standing has no effect on a simulacra's comfort. "What if I told you that there's a way for you to get back at those terrorists? To make the Militia pay for the things they've taken from you." Sebastian's eyes narrowed at him, then traced over to me for a moment before returning to the simulacrum.

"Elaborate."

"The IMC is putting together a new outfit of warfighters, looking for potential recruits with the raw determination and correct mindset to strike down the Frontier Militia. After hearing what happened to your family, we believed you might have just the kind of resolve." The Major gestures towards Sebastian, who looked otherwise unphased. His gaze once again went from Major Vargas to me, except this time it stayed there.

"Then what's her story?" Asked Sebastian.

Major Vargas glanced back over to me before turning back to Sebastian. I began to wonder how well thought out this had been. "Lieutenant Ayanami here is much like you, she was the first to join up with this new unit." He said, although Sebastian seemed to disapprove; he shook his head at the Major's explanation.

"She can speak for herself, can't she? She's a military officer, afterall." He asked, and I had to admit I didn't know what I should have said, because I had nothing to say. I had no connection to this boy, I owed no explanation, and I did not need to convince him; if the IMC wanted they were more than capable of drafting such a child. So, I stay silent. "...Wierdo." he says, and I accept the comment straightforwardly; it is odd for one not to speak when spoken to, regardless if done on purpose.

"Perhaps," the Major responded. "She doesn't trust you as much as you don't trust us? Afterall, it's a two-way street and one that's gotta be earned." Sebastian's hostile demeanor seemed to lessen a bit, digesting Major Vargas' words. "And look at her; she's a commissioned officer and to be one of the most feared fighters on the Frontier. She's disciplined with bearing you at the moment have yet to match. She earned all that, and what have you? I speak because I'm nice, but you've not earned the right to demand anything from either of us. Plus, you've got a clear attitude problem."

Sebastian seemed to experience several emotions. Anger, maybe embarrassment, reluctance possibly. Anger was most clear upon his face however. "... I'll kill those terrorists for you... and for me." He stated. I believe this to be the outcome the Major was expecting, as the simulacrum nodded with what I think was contentness. The Major then looked over to the corner of the room and spotted a civilian duffle bag, and left his chair to approach it. Picking it up, he then dropped it off at the foot of the medical bed before holding out a data pad he had produced from the pocket of his uniform.

"You sign, you're in." Said the Major. I never had the choice, I never gave away my signature. I was a creation, not a person; I didn't have the right to choose. However, even if given the option, I can't say I'd be in a different place then; I have purpose here at least, even if I have yet to be able to fulfill it. Sebastian removed a stylus from the data pad and scribbled down onto it before returning the device to Major Vargas. "Alright. Get changed, we're moving out."

The Major and I waited outside the hospital room before Sebatian reappeared through its doorway dressed in long sleeve shirt and some jeans. He looked like any other child in stark contrast to me, being clearly military. I was a Marine, although once again this is a name I believe I only share at face value. He kept quiet on our way to the front desk to check him out, and remained so as we hailed additional transportation and stayed silent even on the way back to our Goblin. However, once we entered the dropship, he began to question us. He questioned what division of the IMC we were, and had never heard of Nerv before. He questioned my origins, being curious of my hair and eye color which were otherwise unnatural, a light blue and strong red respectively, but he never got a straight answer. He questioned as to why don't I speak, and I told him I had nothing to say. He seemed annoyed at me, yet couldn't bring himself to leave me alone. He asked me more mundane things afterwards, like what kind of music did I like, or my favorite color, and other childish topics, but I had little answers for I had not the luxury or care to develop them. It was almost as if he began to pity me. More questions would come forth as the Goblin made its acceleration and phased into the Upside Down.

I feel slight pressure as the Goblin decelerates and exits the upside down, and check my watch to see how much time has gone by; a little less than an hour. Strange; Cerulean was rather isolated from other systems, the nearest being at least 36 light years away. Looking out the viewing port in the side of the dropship, I am made aware of the presence of many IMC Warships, and the fact I could see them meant they were rather close. They were all around us, and all seemed to be cruising through the void with their tops facing downwards. Of course, there was no such orientation in space, so that meant we were the upside down ones. I had then pieced together that this group of warships was one of the Remnant Fleet: IMC military remnants formed after the Battle of Demeter that cut IMC forces off from the inner colonies, putting a severe logistical strain on the IMC that has allowed the Militia to make significant gains in the war. Commanded by the now Admiral Spyglass, the Remnant Fleet is the primary military arm of the IMC in the Frontier, however attrition has dwindled its count of live humans to the point it is primarily comprised of automated drones. Other IMC affiliates, such as ARES the Archaeological Research Division, and Vinson Dynamics, an arms manufacturing subsidiary with a sizable security force, see the Remnant Fleet as a threat, further fracturing the IMC capability to fight Militia cells.

The Major doesn't say a word as our Goblin enters the hangar bay of one of the Remnant Fleet's warships. I begin to wonder what business between Nerv and the Remnant Fleet requires me, or the newly commissioned 2nd Lieutenant Righter (as I found his family name) to be here. The Remnant Fleet generally operates independently of all other IMC groups, waging their guerilla war against the Militia. Most certainly, they've never interacted with Nerv. With a whirr, the Goblin's doors open and I follow Major Vargas out from the dropship. Lieutenant Righter follows behind me. The grey innards of the large battleship are much like its outer hull; angular and plain. One can tell that such is all for function rather than form. There are several IMC Navy spacers and Marines onboard, and they each seem to look at me with some sort of suspicion, however all render us the proper greeting of the day as Marine Corps customs and courtesies demanded, all of them repeating the same phrase. "Good evening, Sir. Good evening, Ma'am." They say, because we are officers and they are enlisted.

I began to notice we were on the way to the ship's medical bay. On the way there, one of the IMC Marines quickly handed the Major a tablet, though I didn't know it's contents. Vargas began to quickly scroll through it, with what I would describe as intent, analyzing whatever information had been laid before his optics. Upon entering the Medical Bay, I could tell it had been filled with men who were not well. The staggering number of injured had spoken of a recent battle, with coughs of sickness and groans of pain emanating and echoing off the walls as medical drones and professionals tended to those wounded. What business did the Major have with the men here? I followed him as he walked down the bay, dodging doctors, nurses, and robots as he made his way. He turned and stopped by one injured man on a hospital bed, and he seemed to be hurt in many the same ways as I did. Bandages covered the right side of his face, and he had a cast on his right arm. I watched as his one visible blue eye dilated upon the Major while his bristled brown haired chin shifted, biting down on his lip. "Good evening... Sir." He said, and I detected a hint of venom in his voice. He had to of known the Major. His eye then seemed to focus on me, followed by Righter. "Who're these kids? I assume they're not yours."

"Captain Dare." The Major began before gesturing to Righter and myself. "These are Second Lieutenants Rei Ayanami, and Sebastian Righter." The Captain shook his head at those statements.

"You gotta be kidding me, Vargas." He responded to our introductions. "They're teenagers most definitely not old enough for service. Even if she's playing dress up, and he's not even fitted a uniform." Lieutenant Righter stepped forward past me, I could see he felt insulted by those remarks. Though they were true; neither of us met the age requirement for a standard commission.

"Now listen here you broken bit-" Righter began, but was cut short as Captain Dare lifted himself from where he lie, and Righter stepped back in response.

"Sebastian, that's your name, right?" The Captain began. "You're either going to be treated as a child or as a Marine, because at this point you're going to claim to be one or the other, you understand me?" Righter nodded, seemingly without a will to bite. "If you're a child you'll respect your senior, and that's me. If you're a Marine, you'll respect your senior, and that's me, got it?" Once again, Righter nodded. "Good." The Captain then went back to laying on his medical table. "Major, these better not be Marines." He said, I believe referring to us.

"Yes Dare, they are." The Major responded, crossing his arms. "They're to be a new breed of Titan Pilot, more feared and revered than even me."

"There's no way, Vargas." Captain Dare then raised a brow at the simulacrum. "Even if you officially enlisted them, and god damnit I swear if you fucking did, they'd never survive the training pipeline! Remember, Gridiron's failure rate is in the ninety-percentile range! Better than you? You've the so called 'best' cadre of pilots in the entire IMC, trained on a frozen hell where only one in hundreds pass! The odds of a normal being doing such training is astronomical, how is a child supposed to do it?!'

"Well, Captain, I was going to ask you the same question."

"...What?"

"You're going to be responsible for their training and professional development, Captain. Making these recruits into Marines is your job." Major Vargas then crossed his arms, looking down at the Captain, who stared back up at him blankly.

"I'm not a babysitter, Vargas! I've got better things to do than fucking play your games!"

"Like what, Captain?"

"Like figuring out what the thing I just fucking smacked was!"

"Very well then, Dare." Major Vargas then leaned in over the medical table. "Let's discuss it, because I might happen to have some answers."

"...You're fucking lying... That couldn't have been a RESCU thing..."

"No, I am not." The Major stated matter of factly, holding up his tablet before handing it over to Captain Dare, who grasped it with his uninjured arm. "And no, it wasn't. It was Militia affiliated." The Major clarified as the Captain began to swipe through some information presented to him. "That thing is what we call a 'Super-Titan', a mechanized war machine capable of unleashing devastation upon any planetside target with the precision of a guided missile of nearly any yield. Equally capable of demolition single buildings or entire cities, and wiping out entire armies in single engagements."

"Well, didn't seem all that much to me." The Captain retorted, seemingly confident in his ability to match an Eva. "I just disabled one not even last month."

"You got lucky, Captain." Major Vargas bit back. "Our analysis says that whoever was piloting that Super-Titan was inexperienced and more or less incapable, which is why it's shielding failed against an unexpected attack with minimal opportunity to react. Odds are, that deployment was a test conducted by Wille, a Militia counter-agency to Nerv."

"Every explanation you give sounds more crazy than the last. How does a Militia cell create, much less operate or logistically supply that thing?" I could tell due to the expression on the Captain's face that he was in a state of disbelief and anger.

"You saw it yourself, Captain." Answered Major Vargas. "They're probably being funded the same way we are; the Advocate Network. The real question is how'd they develop it; these Super-Titans are top secret assets, no Militia cell should have been able to acquire it."

"...Unless you have a mole."

"We've identified the possibility. It's being handled as we speak." The Major then took back his tablet from the Captain's hands and tucked it under his arm. "Either way, my request is still as it is."

"I already told you I'm not your babysitter. Besides, you want to make children into killing machines, and you should know I wouldn't do that. I refuse."

"No, Dare, that's the opposite of what I'm trying to do. If that's what I wanted, I'd do it myself, or I'd take Graph; he's easier to requisition away from the Remnant Fleet anyways."

"Fuck you, Vargas."

"Some officers would get a little touchy, but since you're Admiral Spyglass' favorite I know it wouldn't do anything anyways." Vargas then shrugged as he turned around to walk outside the hospital room, stopping at the door. "Part of the deal I made with Spyglass was that I give you the choice, and I'm pretty sure the Admiral was betting on you staying, so good on him. I still get Graph either or." The Captain seemed to be furious, his face turned a shade of red and his jaw clenched as his brow furrowed and eyes narrowed at the Major.

"I fucking hate you, Vargas!" Captain Dare called out, and the Major spun back around.

"I know you do, and that's why I need you, Dare." Walking back towards the medical bed, Major Vargas seemed like he had calculated his next words past odds of success in his robot mind. "You're a man of character unparalleled in the entire IMC Armed Forces, and you're competent, and that makes you useful to me twice-fold here." The Major then gestured to Lieutenant Righter and I, as we stood there and had continued to observe their entire exchange. "You can develope these Marines into reputable troops worthy of emulation. They already wield all the killing power I could ever want, I need you to give it direction and motivation." The Major explained, in order to appeal to Captain Dare's moral and ethical ideals. "And I need you to be my field Commander. I'm gonna be stuck in a CoC as the Operations Officer, so you need to be there running and gunning with the rest of my guys. You'll lead the charge against the Militia with those Super-Titans backing you up. With my strategic assets, your tactical sense and ethical responsibility, and the amount of sheer firepower these kids are packing, we'll stomp the Militia out from their caves." The area then fell silent for a moment as Captain Dare contemplated his decision. Eventually, several had passed by.

"I'll do it."

"Good man, Capt-"

"Not because I actually believe these Super-Titans are worth anything, mind you. If I can rough one up certainly anyone can, and I don't think lack of firepower is losing us the war." The Captain elaborated, before glancing between us children. "I'd just hate to see these kids become drones like you."


End file.
